


1973

by Barcardivodka



Series: How they became [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Personal information from the past could have consequences for Waverly's senior team</p>
            </blockquote>





	1973

**Author's Note:**

> Follows on from A Father's Shame, but can be read as a standalone.
> 
> With many thanks to my beta, Jay.

**June 1973 – Admiralty House, Whitehall, London**

Moving the large cardboard box he was carrying to his left hip, Alexander Waverly gave a quick knock on Kuryakin’s office door with his free right hand and entered. Much as he expected, both Solo and Gaby were also there. The man in question sat at his desk, his suit jacket hung from the back of his chair, and he had already rolled up his shirtsleeves and loosened his tie as was his habit when at Headquarters, his shoulder holster firmly in place.

Gaby was sat in an old, overstuffed armchair that had mysteriously appeared some years before. It had been moved so that it was now within arm’s reach of Kuryakin. Or more precisely, its current occupant was within easy reach. Solo, impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, his hair perfectly coiffed leaned against the windowsill on the other side of the desk. All three looked up as Waverly entered.

“Good morning chaps,” he greeted with a smile, having the sentiment returned in triplicate as he placed the box on the edge of the desk.

“What’s this?” Kuryakin asked curiously. “A new mission?” The Russian’s accent had softened over the years as his English had improved and although he could do flawless Scottish and mid-western American accents, an English one was still beyond him.

“Ah, no,” Waverly tapped the top of the box. “It’s rather personal.”

“Personal?” Solo pushed himself away from the windowsill.

“For Mr Kuryakin.” Waverly smiled as the Russian looked at him in surprise.

“For me? What is it?” Kuryakin pulled the box closer to him, his eyes searching for clues regarding its content, but didn’t open it.

Waverly glanced at Gaby and Solo, over the years they, along with Kuryakin had developed a very deep bond, becoming a rather odd, but very protective family.

“It concerns your parents,” Waverly replied softly. Kuryakin removed his hands from the box as if it had suddenly burned him. He looked at Waverly in bewilderment. Gaby pushed herself out of the armchair, not an easy task for someone so heavily pregnant, and came to stand next to Kuryakin, placing a hand on his arm as if to ground him. Solo moved around the desk and closer to Waverly, as if to ward off any sudden attack. “Oleg Kuznetsov sent it. He was recently granted leave to retire on a full pension. He found the box’s contents when he was clearing out his office.” He explained.

Kuryakin looked at Gaby and then at Solo before turning his gaze to the box.

“Would you rather one of us looked through the contents first, Peril?” Solo offered sincerely. Waverly didn’t voice that he’d already looked at the contents. Not out of any sense of curiosity, but with a concern for Kuryakin’s wellbeing. Waverly had removed an item from the box. An item he felt would only bring anguish to the younger man. Kuryakin had worked hard to bring his psychosis under control, and was a well-liked and respected section leader. He and Solo had become more like brothers over the years. They irritated and annoyed each other on a daily basis, but their loyalty and trust for each other was unshakeable.

Waverly had put a stop to any romantic relationship between Kuryakin and Gaby whilst they were field agents. But when Kuryakin had to retire and became a section leader their smouldering relationship had exploded. Waverly had been rather touched when Gaby had asked him to give her away at their wedding. Four years later their first child was due to arrive in only a matter of weeks.

Waverly was often thankful that Solo and Kuryakin had stumbled into his path all those years ago. Waverly had fought hard to keep Solo and Kuryakin, freeing them both from the leashes that had tied them to their former agencies. He had secured a full pardon for Solo, so that his freedom could never been threatened again. Kuryakin had proved trickier, but Waverly had finally unbound him from the KGB without the Russian having to defect.

Five years ago the unique and highly successful team had floundered when Kuryakin had been seriously injured on a mission and nearly died. It had, however, ended Kuryakin’s career as a field agent. The injury to his left leg had left him with a pronounced limp and the need to walk with a cane.

Waverly had been astonished and somewhat indignant that the Russian assumed he would be returned to the KGB and a very bleak future. The agency was growing fast and Waverly was struggling to oversee every aspect of it. He’d offered Kuryakin the leadership of the communications section, encompassing everything from research and development of tracking, listening and communication devices, decoding and language translations to routine contact with agents on missions.

Kuryakin had surpassed Waverly’s already high expectations. As had Solo when an injury forced him out of the field a year later. Sadistically tortured, Solo’s right hand had been cruelly damaged with a hammer. Although the doctors had tried their best, Solo lost much of the dexterity in his hand. It was too weak to grip and fire a gun and his light-fingered skills of pick-pocketing and lockpicking were severely curtailed. Although he had learnt to shoot with his left hand, Solo had taken the position to head the covert operation section. As well as training agents in the art of deception and devising undercover identities Solo and Kuryakin had established a telephone exchange and small satellite offices. Agents undercover could now give a business name, address and telephone number that would withstand the most intense of scrutinises, thereby cementing their alias.

 Gaby, with neither Kuryakin nor Solo to back her up, had given up field work, much to the immense relief of all three men. Waverly had put her in charge of the personnel section, giving her responsibility of the recruitment of non-field agents and the welfare and discipline of all the staff. It seemed like a mere woman-centric role, but it gave Gaby an invaluable insight on how a spy agency was run. Over the following years Waverly had handed over the recruitment of field agents and the authority over several budgets. To the outside world she appeared no more than a glorified secretary, but Waverley knew that if anything happened to him she would be able to step up to the podium and keep the agency running smoothly, with the assistance of Solo and Kuryakin.

With all three in senior positions UNCLE had never run more smoothly. It had certainly been interesting having all three of them underfoot.

Waverly watched as Kuryakin flipped off the lid from the box. He pulled out a thick file that Waverly knew contained information about his father’s trial and a record of his years in the gulag. Kuryakin passed it to Gaby who placed it on the edge of the desk. Eight photographs came next.

“I don’t remember these being taken,” Kuryakin said as he spread them out in front of him. Some were creased from being folded up numerous times, only the last one was in good condition. Solo moved to stand behind the desk, one hand resting on the back of Kuryakin’s chair, he picked the last one up and flipped it over.

“This one’s dated 1952. You were still with Special Forces then, weren’t you?” Solo queried.

Kuryakin nodded. “It was the year my father died. Colonel Kuznetsov gave me his watch and offered me a position with the KGB. These are my father’s things?” He asked Waverly.

“The photographs were. The letters and file were sent to Kuznetsov after your father died.” Waverly replied. He’d wondered why Oleg hadn’t passed the items along to Kuryakin sooner. Had they really been forgotten? Or had Kuznetsov wanted to protect him from the harsh realities of his father’s life in the gulag? Much like Waverly was hoping to protect the younger man from the truth of his mother’s life.

“Letters?” Kuryakin pulled a bundle of letters from the box, Gaby pulled out another.

“These are from my father to my mother. They’re unopened.”

Gaby handed him the letters she had taken. “These are from your mother.” She said sadly. The letters were also unopened.

Kuryakin looked down at the letters in his hand and shook his head. “They weren’t even allowed the comfort of a letter.”

“Perhaps Gaby and Peril could take the rest of the day off, sir?” Solo asked Waverly. “Give them some…”

“No.” Kuryakin looked up at Solo. “I wish to share this,” he tapped the box, “with you both, Cowboy.”

A look of understanding passed between the two men and Solo nodded. Waverly had never envisaged that the two of them would ever be more than colleagues. But rivalry had turned to friendship and the years of shared danger had deepened it to brotherhood.

“Well, in that case, why don’t the three of you take the rest of the day and I’ll see you on Monday,” Waverly offered. “I’m sure I can handle anything that might pop up and I’ll telephone if you’re required,” he added as the trio started to protest.

 

Waverly walked back to his office after making sure the three of them had left the building, Kuryakin with an arm around a waddling Gaby and Solo with the box tucked securely under his arm. He sat down at his desk and looked down at the file he had removed from the box.

Had he done the right thing by not allowing Kuryakin to see it? He knew the other man adored his mother, even in death, seeing her sacrifices to ensure he was clothed, fed and educated through the innocent eyes of a child.

The harsh realities of what she had suffered through were laid bare in cold, blunt honest words in the file before him. He pulled open the bottom draw of his desk and hid the file from view.

There was no telling what was in the letters Kuryakin’s parents had written to each other. Waverly was gambling on the fact that they would have kept from each other their worries and fears, but tried to give comfort and assurances to one another.

He could only hope he was right. Kuryakin, Solo and Gaby had fought hard for the peace and happiness they had now found. If one of them faltered, they would all fall.

 

 


End file.
